


Perspective

by MontanaHarper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bodyswap, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn Battle, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-14
Updated: 2008-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/MontanaHarper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>When Dean steps into the doorway and their eyes meet in the mirror, it's the weirdest moment so far. For all that they're wearing familiar faces, things are somehow fundamentally different, and it's like two strangers looking at one another for the first time.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile?mode=fullprofile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/)'s [Porn Battle V (the fifth dimension)](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/344051.html). Prompt: bodyswap.

The morning the curse manifests, Sam wakes first. He has no qualms about taking advantage of the opportunity, standing in front of the cracked bathroom mirror and running Dean's hands over Dean's body, feeling from the inside the way each touch sparks fire beneath Dean's skin, leaving him gasping and shaking and moaning his need in Dean's voice. It's easy to draw out the pleasure until he's aching with it; he knows this body almost as well as he knows his own. Maybe better, even.

He teases, feather-light strokes across Dean's chest that barely ghost over sensitive nipples, fingernails dragged lightly over Dean's belly and down one thigh before tracing lines of pleasure-pain up the shaft of his cock. He's got one finger spit-slicked and worked knuckle deep inside Dean's ass when he hears a groan from the other room.

"Sammy?" It's his own voice, but the intonation is all Dean.

"Sort of," he says, free hand wrapped tight around Dean's cock, and it comes out in Dean's most breathy _I'm gonna come now_ rasp.

Silence fills the motel room for a few seconds, and then Dean says, "Christ, Sam, are you...?" and Sam never knew his own vocal cords could produce that same desperate sound, but apparently there are some things that are integral to Dean, no matter what body he's inhabiting.

There's the rustle of sheets, and then the quiet pad of footsteps crossing the carpeted floor. Sam watches the reflection of the doorway, one hand wrapped tight and unmoving and the other slowly pressing in, opening Dean's body, as much of a tease as his earlier caresses. One finger isn't nearly enough; he's aching for more in a way he never has in his own body, and he can't help but wonder if this is how Dean always feels. If this is why Dean is content to let Sam do all the fucking.

When Dean steps into the doorway and their eyes meet in the mirror, it's the weirdest moment so far. For all that they're wearing familiar faces, things are somehow fundamentally different, and it's like two strangers looking at one another for the first time. Then Dean bites his bottom lip, his eyes dark and his gaze heated as he takes in what Sam is doing. One step forward, two, and he's at Sam's back, hands hovering almost close enough to touch, but not quite. The lack of physical contact doesn't actually do anything to impede the sparks that have always been between them.

"Fuck." It doesn't sound as dirty in Sam's voice as it usually does in Dean's, but it still sends shivers through him. "I wanna—"

"Yeah," Sam says, not even needing him to finish. "Yes. Do it."

Gentle pressure between his shoulder blades and Sam's bent over the vanity, hand automatically going from around his dick to splayed wide on the mirror, ring clicking loud against the glass as he braces himself. Dean urges his legs wider and he shifts, starting to pull his other hand away, but Dean stops him: "No. Keep going."

Sam does, head bowed and back arched, fucking himself open for Dean.

He can sense Dean kneeling behind him, thinks he can feel the damp brush of breath over his skin, or maybe that's just his imagination. Then Dean's tongue is there, wet and hot, licking around Sam's finger, around Sam's hole, slicking him up, and it's good but Sam wants more. As if reading his mind, Dean says, "Two fingers now," and Sam obeys without hesitation, the new stretch and burn better than anything he's felt in his own body. Dean's groan tells him it looks as good as it feels, and his cock jumps at the pure sex of the sound, pre-come beading on the tip.

Dean pushes his tongue in alongside Sam's fingers again, and it's Sam's turn to groan. "Jesus, Dean," he says. "Just do it already. Come on." The only response he gets, though, is Dean reaching around to stroke his cock, thumb sliding through the slick pre-come and rubbing circles on the hypersensitive head until Sam can't take it any more and comes hard enough to see stars.

"Fuck," he breathes once the shaking has stopped. "Is it always like that for you?"

He feels the huff of Dean's laughter against his skin. "Nah," Dean says. "Sometimes it's _really_ good."


End file.
